


Dance with me?

by Adeline_Hatter



Series: Down at the shawshank [1]
Category: Seven Seas Six Idiots
Genre: Dancing, Down at the Shawshank AU, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Leaving a party early, Modern AU, Pining, Political Parties, observation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29699763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeline_Hatter/pseuds/Adeline_Hatter
Summary: Another political party, another room of people who don't quite get the world in general and another encounter with a lying friend.
Relationships: Satine Bergenfeld | Helena De La Fountaine/Helmsworth Free | Kevin Trevant
Series: Down at the shawshank [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182647





	Dance with me?

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how in character this is but y'all are just gonna have to take it

He never minds a good party, never, sometimes they can be loud and boisterous, others soft rooms full of quiet words. 

This one is in the middle of the two, stuffy suits and attempts at manners that would make Dorgg look successful as the same sort of crowd gathers and there’s this part of him that quite frankly wants to call his Boss and simply tell him to never send him to anything like this again. 

Not even the music was anything interesting, Helmsworth was relatively sure they’d been looping the same piece of Mozart for the last hour and no one had said anything. 

He swipes a glass of champagne off of a passing tray with a matter of practiced ease, there was a reason why he avoided invitations whenever he went home to see his family but no, Eternograx just had to pick _him_ out of the interns to go to a fancy party that didn’t even have good food, just tiny little disks of cheese and caviar. 

Every now and then he tunes into conversations that have nothing to do with him, someone discussing how they had to fire someone for disrespecting them and others talking about who they think will end up winning the election.

Politics was a disappointing mass of messes that Helmsworth could probably dip his toe in and win if he really tried. 

It was like gambling, just with more lying. 

The champagne might be the only good thing at this party after all, he lifts the glass to his lips to take a sip when a hand slips into his free one and tugs him away from the wall, starting down the hall. 

Helmsworth looks mournfully as the drink splashes out of his glass, before he turns to face his kidnapper, “You know, if you want my attention you could just say my name-” 

“Dance with me?” Helena says instead of a greeting, her eyes are wide and her hair is frightfully starting to fall out of the updo she has it in. 

Carefully, he looks over at the man stalking towards them both with an expression that could only really be summed up in a sentence that should never be said in polite company. 

“If Karnegie talks to me, you owe me dinner.” He replies as he sets the champagne flute on a hallway table. 

Helena’s shoulders sink with a loss of tension, “Done.”

Adjusting the hold they have on each other’s hands, he turns towards the ballroom and the mass of slowly waltzing couples, “So, who are you here for?” He asks as they both find a clear spot on the floor. 

“Industria, also my Father.” She replies easily as he sets a hand in the small of her back, her suit is as finely tailored as his own, Helena sets her own hand on his shoulder and it’s an easy step into a dance that they both know for lack of choice, “It was either this or they’d arrange a ‘Playdate’ for me.” 

Helmsworth can help the small laugh that leaves him, but he lets it slip, “Aren’t you a little old for those?” 

She rolls her eyes, in her heels she’s taller than him by about two inches, “Father’s obsessed with the idea of securing the future of the company with a marriage and I chose this party to escape and yet-” 

“Playdate found you anyway?”  
  
“Playdate found me anyway.” She replies with a weary little sigh, her heel makes a decisive little click against the floor as they turn a little further into the crowd, “Do you think we lost him?” 

He casts a glance around the room, “I hope so.” 

There remains still this edge of anxiety to how she’s holding herself, like actually relaxing is out of reach but within view. 

So, he poses the question, “Do you want to get out of here and steal a bottle of champagne on the way out?” 

“We sound so entitled when you suggest things like that.” She replies quietly as they make another turn this time towards the opposite door. 

He shrugs, “We do and we are, yay or nay?” 

“You’ll have to drink it by yourself.” She lets him tug her towards the open terrace doors. 

Helmsworth grins at her, “Kitchens then, must have real food around here somewhere.” 

“I do know where they are.” Helena puts forwards as they take the final step out into the slowly warming evening air, “Small blessings for the rich I suppose.” 

He lets her lead him this time, in a short walk through the gardens before looping back around the building down into the kitchens. 

* * *

  
  


The kitchens were awash with people, who they managed to gleam a simple glance at before they were kicked out with a pleasant smile that would put anyone at the party happening to shame. 

Helena stares at the door after it shuts on them, “If I were meaner I’d use my influence with them.” 

“If I were meaner I’d let you do it.” 

She pauses, crossing her arms and turning to him, “Is ‘Meaner’ a word?” 

He shrugs, “So, no food then.” 

“...We could just leave, I mean I technically have done the rounds and said hello to everyone important.” Her offer hangs out in the air for a moment and he considers it, she pulls back the sleeve of her blazer, “If we go now we could make it just before the kitchens close at the Shawshank.” 

They both lapse into silence and he thinks about it, “You good with me driving?”

  
“Oh, of course, I didn't bring my car.” Her voice is even as she sighs, shrugging, “Honestly the only reason I’m still here is probably because of the lack of a getaway car.” 

Helmsworth tilts his head, “They do make things easier, honestly the valet’s face when I handed my keys over made it seem like my car was overwhelmingly normal.” 

“What kind of car do you even have?” 

“It’s a polo.” 

“Of course it is.” She turns on her heel in the direction of where the door is, he has to admire the grace in which she does it, just a little, “You do prefer them.” 

He pauses himself now as she walks away, “Did you just insult my fashion sense?”

Helena didn’t reply, he tilts his head and lets the smile widen on his face, before jogging to catch up with her. 

“I have an idea before we go.” She finally speaks after a moment, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the carpet as they returned to the lobby of the hotel, “I want to quit.” 

Stalling in place, he turns to look at her and blinks, “Quit?” 

“Yes, I’ve been debating it for a little while and Industria’s an asshole, so why not?” Helena’s eyes grew a sharp turn in them, “Maybe throw a glass of wine in his face, it’s not like he can kill me in a room full of people.” 

Her lips curving upwards into a small smile, he wonders what it would be like to be inside her head for just a moment, before it fades again. 

She keeps walking, a little quicker this time, “It would serve him right for all the stuff he’s made me do, not to mention all the boring parties no one ever wants to go to.” 

Helmsworth jogs a bit to catch up to her, but doesn’t reply to her train of thought, a little fascinated to see where it will go over adding his own thoughts on the matter.

“Besides, I’m thinking about getting a less stressful job anyway, there’s this nice music shop down the road from the Shawshank that I go in sometimes to just have a look, I’m not really a rock music kind of person but the owner’s really nice and he’s looking to hire someone to work on the weekends, which would give me a liable excuse as to why I can’t make any parties or go out with people from my classes-”

“And it seems a darn sight better than working for Industria?” 

“-Yes.” Helena turns to face him again, hair completely shifting again and he reaches forward to fix it, she lets him do it and he wonders why, they’ve never exactly been close after all and she usually shies away from any kind of physical contact, well. 

Unless it was from a scruffy pub owner. 

“You, going to work in a music shop? Can’t say I see it.” He twists the piece of hair back into her bun, it’s frightfully easy all things considered, her hair styles were never more complicated than a twist of her hair, “But I would pay money to.” 

Her eyes roll of their own accord but her lips tick upwards, before she meets his gaze again, “Yes, hardy har, me, working in customer service.” 

Drawing his hand away he steps forwards to continue down the way, “It’s never as glamorous as it seems, just ask Bunny and the toilets that the entire staff at the Shawshank draw straws to clean.” 

A smile blooms full force across her face now, if he were a weaker man it would make him pause, but he was used to seeing it in some capacity.

It would be a lie however if he said there wasn’t a flutter in his chest at the knowledge that he had caused it though, as it was staying put far longer than any other of the evening. 

“Where should we go for food?” He asks, tearing his eyes away from what was almost the brightest source of light in the room, “If we don’t get to the pub in time.” 

Helena hums, glancing around the room as they step fully into the lobby, “Well, it’s got to be cheap, nasty and horribly unhealthy.” 

“AKA, something your parents would gag at the sight of?”  
  
The smile grows a little wider as she waves to the receptionists, who, to his surprise, wave right back, “McDonalds could work, specifically chicken nuggets.” 

“Depends, are you buying?” 

She pauses, smile falling and it’s absence is noted as she sighs, “I’m the one with money aren’t I?” 

“I mean that could be changed, all I would need is to borrow a hundred quid and then go to the casino on the fifth floor-” 

“I’m not lending you money just to gamble.” 

“Crush all my dreams, why don’t you.” 

She grins widely and starts to jog just a little towards the door, “Come on, let’s buy Bunny something too.” 

He considers it later, that he really had no choice but to follow as he hands the ticket to the valet and waits with her for his car, he doesn’t mention how they could have gone back to the ballroom to fulfill her fantasy of wine in her Boss’s face nor that she technically hasn’t told anyone she’s actually leaving.

The wind picks itself up before the blue polo that’s at least twenty years older than him glides into space and he spies Helena slipping the valet a twenty from her pocket like it’s made of nothing before she walks around the car before him and lets herself into his car. 

He nods once in farewell to the valet, then climbs in after her. 

* * *

  
  


The Lady Shawshank overlooks the beach that marks this end of the mainland, one with actual sandy shores and everything, no pebbles like the beaches back home and their massive piers that hold up museums or aquariums. 

Helena places her milkshake next to his slowly growing cold cup of coffee as he leans against the wall, they’d left the food in the car behind them, it would grow cold but with the amount of muffled sound coming from the pub a little ways away from them, he didn’t exactly foresee them attempting to get inside. 

She slowly starts to pull the pins from her hair, sliding them into the pockets on her trousers one after the other until every single curl rests on her shoulders. 

“Feel better?” He asks.

“Do you?” She returns with an unexpected edge of softness, throwing him a concerned glance, “I don’t remember you ever actually enjoying parties like that and I’ve seen you at quite a few.” 

He blinks at her once, then slowly a second time, “I never thought anyone noticed the discomfort.” 

“Oh, come on, Kevin we both know neither of us belong in that crowd.” Her tone is matter of fact, the sudden use of his given name a quick clip of her mouth and tongue and she swings her gaze from the sea to him. 

Storms are incarnate in this light, intelligent and sharp, always thinking this one, “I would argue but…” He trails off and raises his head a bit to properly meet her eyes.

“But?” She prompts, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards a bit, “Oh wait, you hate to admit when I’m right?” 

To his own surprise the comment pulls a laugh out of him, “I can admit when you're right, Helena.” 

“So do it.” Helena’s gaze fills with mirth, she likes this he realises, the slight teasing she can pull off, “Tell me I’m wrong.” 

He picks his tea up and sips it instead of replying to the prompt, “Says the woman who willingly let a guy who’d been drinking to drive her across the city.” 

She pauses this time, hair flowing in the wind and the humour disappearing, “I don’t make great decisions when I’m mad at my parents.” 

“Really? That wasn’t clear at _all.”_ Her eyes roll with the stressing of the last syllable. 

Helena falls slowly quiet after that, returning her gaze to the rolling tides in front of her and then down at her heels sinking in the sand. 

She leans down and slides both off, leaving them abandoned in the sand when he’s sure they cost more than his entire wardrobe as she takes off at something of a sprint and only stops an inch from the sea. 

He watches her take that last step forwards, and just stand there for a minute. 

He’s a betting man, he knows that, everyone knows that but he’d never bet on Helena. 

With cards, or three dragons, roulette wheels or dice, you could always predict an outcome no matter how random it appeared, but people with eyes like hers were not betting people. 

In some way, even if they didn’t know it themselves, they knew what they were doing. 

Like now as the ocean washes over her, a small slice of freedom that no one could take away. 

The suit that hung off of her and the blonde curls that looked almost silver in the moonlight would make any normal person take a breath and comment about beauty, maybe make an offhanded reference to Aphrodite in some attempt at a line to bring them attention.

If Helmsworth were a different sort of person, he’d mutter about the regal stature in her posture that she never seemed to realise she had or the way she spoke with purpose and poise out of her upbringing. 

Her shoulders move and he wonders how many deep breaths she’s taken of late as she turns, he redirects his gaze back to the sea as she walks back over, straight backed and determined. 

“Right, let’s go give Bunny her fries.” She announces it like an order and he raises his eyebrows before pushing off the wall as she picks up her shoes, “I’m going ahead.” 

He meets her eyes one last time, startled by the look in them as she turns once again on her heel, shoes in one hand and milkshake in the other and begins to walk down the beach to the Shawshank. 

“I’ll catch up then?” He calls and she waves her shoes in a dismissive manner, “You really are a future leader.” Helmsworth mutters to no one but himself and the air. 

The thought as he turns back to his car, to get the food and his hat, strays through him. 

A woman with eyes like that, shouldn’t look so lonely. 

Not that he could do anything with that, nothing at all. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
